


The Dish Best Served Cold

by chickenlivesinpumpkin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Crush, Fluff, Homework, Humor, M/M, Pointless Teenage Revenge, Silly, Teacher vs. Students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenlivesinpumpkin/pseuds/chickenlivesinpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's tired of Snape's bad teaching. So Gryffindor House takes it upon themselves to teach Snape a little lesson. Or at least, to make his job grading a little harder. But they should've remembered that Snape fights dirty...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dish Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not making any money off this, unfortunately.

 

“I’m never writing another essay for him. They can fail me. I don’t care.” Harry threw his bookbag across the packed Gryffindor common room and made to chuck the offensive piece of parchment into the fire. George got there first.

“Calm yourself, little tornado,” he said, pushing Harry lightly into one of the overstuffed armchairs and rolling the parchment open for perusal. “Flitwick name-calling again?”

“Snape,” Harry said bitterly, pronouncing it like a curse.

Fred blinked in feigned shock. “Snape? Be cruel? Why…no…I would never…impossible!”

Ron loomed over his older brother’s shoulder when George began to laugh. “What is it? What’s it say?”

“Allow me,” George said, clearing his throat loudly. Others in the room looked up.

“Must we humiliate Harry out loud?” Harry muttered. “Oh, why not?”

With a fairly bad Snape impression, George began to read the comment at the end of Harry’s essay.

_Mr. Potter, your reasoning regarding moonstones is as specious as it is embarrassing. Do try to learn to read one of these days. You can find countless answers in books, many of which can be found in Hogwarts’ own library. That’s on the third floor, by the way. I’m sure Miss Granger can show you where it is. I suggest beginning with the Pauline Can Read series. Don’t let the fact that it is meant for little witches dissuade you._

By the end, the entire common room was torn between laughter and empathy.

“Blimey,” Neville said, looking pale and nervous. “And I thought he was mean to me. Do you think it’s a sign he’ll be worse from now on?”

“Not to anyone else,” Harry grumbled. “He doesn’t hate anyone like he hates me.”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you, noble Gryffindor,” Fred said. “Revenge is far more satisfactory.”

“Revenge?” Ron scoffed. “Against Snape? Are you taking the piss?”

“Not remotely, little brother, and I’m appalled it would even occur to you to think so.” Fred reached out and took the roll of parchment from his brother. He considered it with pursed lips, then glanced down at Hermione, who sat on the couch with piles of homework in lap, dutifully trying to ignore their tomfoolery. “Miss Granger, do me a favor for a tick, and put on your most disapproving mien.”

Hermione, apparently slightly offended, sighed and crossed her arms.

“That’ll do,” he said. “Pretend you’re a teacher. What would you say if a student came to you with this sort of comment from a colleague?”

Hermione stared at him, her forehead slowly creasing. “Oh, Fred, that’s disrespectful.”

“To pretend to be a teacher?” Ron asked, confused.

“No, I think she’s just cottoned on to what I’ve got in mind. And, I’d like to point out that Snape started it.”

George began to laugh. “Fred, you’re a genius. Although it does hinge a bit on Harry’s sincerity when he stated he doesn’t care about failing.”

“I meant it,” Harry bit out darkly, still staring into the fire.

“Then we’ve got the perfect opportunity for a little payback.” Fred handed the essay back to Harry. “Mind you don’t chuck those into the fire anymore. We’ll need them.”

“For what?” Ron asked.

“Evidence.” Fred rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.

“Of what?” Ron asked.

“Look, Snape’s comments have always been snotty. But he’s much worse on Harry. We just need something Harry can hold over his head a little.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

“We’ll have to be flexible. But eventually, we’ll have proof that he repeatedly targets you, and then we can…well, we’ll get to that. But for the first time in…ever, I’m actually excited to do some homework. Aren’t you, Harry?” Fred glanced at George, and they both grinned.

Harry wasn’t quite sure exactly what the twins had in mind that had Hermione’s lips so tightly clamped they were white, but it certainly had potential, so he nodded.

“To your quill, young ragamuffin,” George said. “And we’ll need some parchment. We’ve educationing to do.”

With half of Gryffindor House crowded around him calling out suggestions both stupid and profane, Harry wrote his next potions essay. He had to admit, it was a definite improvement over the last. Not in quality—oh, no, Snape would probably wet himself in fury when he read this—but in experience. He thought this might actually be the only time he’d enjoyed schoolwork affiliated with his potions class. Even with the Weasley twins constantly having to remind everyone that they had to keep the first step of the revenge subtle to ensure that the later stages were effective, the whole exercise turned out to be rather fun.

The subject was the uses of amethysts, a semi-precious gemstone used in potions of love and affection (which should be better called subversive types of poison, Snape had argued during lecture). Simply put, the first stage of revenge required an obvious act of stupidity. Instead of writing about amethysts, George argued, Harry would be writing about amaryllis flowers.

For the first time, Harry found himself writing more than had been requested of him. Every negative thing he’d ever thought about Hermione’s over-achieving nature came back to haunt him—under the right circumstances, homework could be kind of fun.

He wasn’t sure which part was his favorite. Perhaps George’s idea of an opening sentence: _Amathysts are a type of flower, which is why I find it odd that we’re studying them in the middle of the gemstone unit, but as these flowers are a symbol of love as well as an ingredient in love potions, I suppose that makes sense._

Or maybe it was Ron’s contribution: _As with all flowers used as gemstones in love potions, the roots must be ground up so that they resemble bits of rock._

Lavender came up with: _Purple—which is one of the colors that the leaves of the amethyst comes in—is the color of royalty as well as love, which has meaning here, somehow._

But no, the hands-down best sentence, in Harry’s opinion, was Hermione’s rather reluctant conclusion sentence: _For more on this fascinating subject, please see page 223 of Mr. Greaves Burdock’s Flower Compendium, which is my superb source for this essay._

Page 223 was indeed about the amaryllis, but Fred and George were particular fans of this addition because they thought Snape would have an aneurism about the fact that even if Harry had made the honest mistake of mixing up amaryllis plants with amethyst stones, that still wouldn’t excuse the fact that Harry’d gotten most of his facts about the flower wrong, even with the source right there next to him.

“Your mind is a place of subtle machinations, Hermione,” Fred said appraisingly. “I hope to remain on your good side.”

“See that you do,” she replied primly.

*

Snape collected the homework at the beginning of class. Harry suspected that the professor was a little thrown by the strangely attentive nature of the Gryffindors that day, not realizing that the tension from that half of the room came not from a sudden interest in carnelians, the subject of the lecture, but from a very real sense that the sword of Damoclese had already begun to fall.

Harry, with his head being the one on the chopping block, thought he felt this a bit more acutely than the others.

Snape never took more than two days to get essays back. It was Monday. By Thursday, Harry would either have a parchment filled with vitriol, or the confrontation from hell.

*

The entirety of Gryffindor house was waiting for Harry when he got back on Thursday. Harry hadn’t dared look at it; from the moment Snape had returned the essays, he’d had a rock in his stomach the size of Gibraltar’s. He unrolled the parchment with shaking hands, and read silently, with bated breath held all around him.Finally, even Harry had to laugh.

_Please be aware, Mr. Potter, that the only rocks present in this essay are the ones in your head. The amethyst is not a flower, you cretin, and even if we were covering amaryllises, all you’ve demonstrated is that you still know nothing about them! If the sheer number of inaccuracies here were transfigured into rocks and attached to your person, I should feel quite pleased to encourage you to go swimming, as the outcome would no doubt mean that I would never have to grade such drivel again._

_Do it over. Twenty inches this time, due TOMORROW. If I see this much stupidity again, you’ll have double essays to write for a week. And if Miss Granger so much as blinks in the direction of this assignment, I’ll have you both expelled for cheating._

By the time Harry was done, the common room was in a riot of hilarity. He’d never been quite so proud of his academic prowess before.

However, Fred and George felt that things needed some accomodation. The goal, after all, wasn’t to get Harry more homework—there were Quidditch matches and such, not to mention hours of free time to cling to—but to punish Snape for his cruelty.

“Mildly insulting rather than stupid,” Fred suggested.

“Whoa,” Harry said, putting his hands up. “That’ll get me detention!”

“Not if it’s done correctly,” Hermione said.

George glanced over at her. “You have an idea, oh wise one?”

“Don’t insult Snape, first of all,” she said.

“If the rest of that sentence includes the phrase ‘do your homework right and learn something,’ we’re not going to be friends anymore,” George said.

“Have Harry insult _Harry_ ,” she said simply. “Not only is Professor Snape unlikely to reassure him, he might even rub it in a bit, and it’ll mean that down the road, the professor will be in trouble for disregarding an obvious cry for help before things go…badly.”

“Hell hath no fury,” Ron said. “Never accuse Hermione of cheating.”

*

Harry wrote out the second draft quickly, finally ending up with something that was a vast improvement over the first while still being a poor representation of the concepts Snape was trying to teach them. Fred, George, Ron and Hermione were the only ones to hang around this time, as they needed more subtlety than the mob was generally capable of shouting out.

“Change that line,” Fred said. “Try ‘I really thought it was mentioned in class that the amaryllis should be diced to be the most efficacious, but our textbook doesn’t say that anywhere. I’m sorry Professor, I just don’t know for sure. I’ll try to look it up before we have to make the amortentia.”

“Yeah, now that Hermione’s finally shown me where the library is,” Harry said, grinning.

“Third floor,” they all chorused.

“You’ll need more, something suitably pathetic and irreverent,” George said when they’d stopped giggling. “Something that would make McGonagall see a desperate student in need of tutoring while Snape would just see you being a shite.”

For a moment they were all quiet, thinking. Hermione finally said quietly, “Write this: I’m very sorry for the mistake in the first version of this essay. I don’t know what I was thinking getting amethysts and amaryllises mixed up. You’re a good enough teacher that I should have known that flowers wouldn’t be taught during the gemstone unit. That should’ve been my first clue. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

They were all staring at her as Harry laid his quill down.

“Positively Machiavellian,” Fred said, gaping. “How is it that you’ve never considered a life of crime?”

Hermione turned pink with pleasure and bit her lip.

 

After following Fred and George’s advice to be smiling and happy during Potions in an attempt to show that Harry wasn’t taking the subject seriously, Harry wasn’t surprised when he got back an essay full of…well…

_Instead of pointing out each and every flaw, instead let me point out the moments of where you at least manage the barest standard of mediocrity, of which there are two. First, you have somehow acquired a minimal grasp of the proper use of periods and question marks, showing that even the dimmest lamp can burn brighter with education. Second, you spelled your name correctly._

_As for the distinct lack of subtlety in your attempt to cage a better grade for shoddy work, I would be willing to offer you remedial lessons if you’re truly concerned for the quality of your understanding. However, as you know me and I know you, I think we can safely assume this won’t come to pass._

_Finally, every time a student uses a comma correctly, a snitch gets its wings. Perhaps the fact that you’re incapable of doing so explains why the snitch’s loyalty proved to belong to Slytherin in the last match._

“That is low,” Ron bellowed. “Low! As if Malfoy’d have a chance in hell at getting the snitch if he played square. That ferrety git. Both of ‘em! Malfoy and Snape! Gits!”

“That’s clever,” George said, and Fred and Hermione were nodding.

“Eh?” Ron asked. “Gits?”

“Not you, idiot,” Fred said, pushing his brother off the arm of the couch where he’d been perched. “Snape.”

“He’s an intelligent beast,” George added. “Remarkably so, for one who has not yet learned how to open the lid on a flask of shampoo.”

“Canny,” Hermione murmured. “We should’ve expected this.”

“What?” Ron asked.

Harry hated to admit that he wasn’t sure either, but finally he said so.

“It’s just that now the onus is on you, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Onions?” Ron asked.

She sighed, ignoring the ginger boy blinking up at her in confusion from the floor. “Now if you don’t ask for remedial potions lessons, any other teacher will want to know why you didn’t take Snape up on his offer later. Snape can say he offered, but that you simply didn’t care enough.”

“Drat,” Fred said. “What do we do?”

“They’re gits,” Ron muttered.

*

The class had moved on from gemstones to flesh contributions. As they studied the differences between the entrails of mammals versus amphibians, the essays passing back and forth between Snape and Harry became more and more ridiculous and vitriolic—not what the twins or Hermione had been aiming for at all. When Harry wrote that part of what made monkey entrails superior to those of even some grown men was that they, at least, could be taught how to use shampoo, Snape replied with _I’m not quite sure where to start with the inadequacies of this essay. If I list everything that is flawed in your thinking, I shall be here indefinitely, and I have plans for this weekend that don’t include hauling your dimwitted brain up into the barest resemblance of mediocrity._

This was followed, in class, by Snape’s willingness to renew his offer for remedial lessons in front of Malfoy, who laughed maniacally (the ferrety git, Harry thought through clenched teeth).

Still annoyed by this little humiliation, Harry turned in a scrap of paper with just his name, the date, and two sentences: “As you made perfectly clear in class today, I’m useless as a student. As such, I have nothing to say on the subject of frog’s toes.” In response, Snape wrote: _While I am pleased that you’ve finally realized the unimportance of your own thoughts and conclusions to those of us who must read or hear them, I find it incumbent upon me, as a teacher, to nonetheless request that you figure out something to write. DO THE ESSAY. Add six inches in length for your cheek. If this happens again, I’ll make you and Malfoy lab partners for the rest of the year._

Harry conveniently ‘forgot’ to use all punctuation and capitalization during his next essay, and wrote with unnaturally long, convoluted phrases, knowing that reading it that way would take longer.

Snape’s comment was one sentence long and written in a foreign language. The letters looked just pleased enough with themselves that the group suspected something rather foul in the making.

Hermione led the way, passing out books. It took them nearly twenty minutes to narrow the language down to ancient Sumerian, an hour to track down a book that included a dictionary in that language, and then another hour to translate the text. When they read it, all five of them howled in anger.

Snape wrote: “In the time it took you to translate this, you could have completed tonight’s homework.”

*

The next potions essay was about the _Valor Vanteris_ potion, a way of temporarily keeping fear at bay during a risky endeavor, and which Snape had described as causing a feeling of profound emptiness. And Harry, still enraged about Snape’s comments on the last essay, found it all too easy to think of how to set Snape off.

Once he explained, Ron was all for it.

Fred, George and Hermione were all far more wary.

“If you just piss him off, mate, he’ll hang you upside down by your toes and feed you to Filch’s cat,” Fred said.

“Or he’ll actually tie rocks to you and drown you in the lake,” George offered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’ll keep you in detention during Quidditch matches is what he’ll do, and you’ll end up losing any chance of being the captain next year when Angelina’s graduated.”

“I don’t want to piss him off,” Harry said, mostly honestly. “I want him to feel the way we always feel when we’re forced to interact with him. Small. I’m tired of dreading that class and being angry in there all the time. He admitted he’s taken this potion. Now is this revenge or just games?”

Reluctantly, the Weasley twins and Hermione put their thinking caps on.

An hour later, Harry looked down at his parchment. Different sections kept standing out to him: _for bravery is never found in the slithering plans of cowards and manipulators, but in the stalwart and honest…such a potion would be taken by only the worst kind of weakling, someone who cannot stand up to those who would take over his will and make him their follower…the drinker of this kind of potion would be the sort to strike out at others in impotent rage over inconsequential things simply from the pain he would feel at the awareness of his own cowardice._

Hermione, Fred and George had, at that point, all firmly washed their hands of the project, and even Ron had shaken his head and offered a few words of caution.

But Harry’s rage had taken over.

*

Dangerously, in class two days later, Harry’s essay was not returned to him. With his temper cooled slightly with time, he did not have the nerve to ask for it back. He slunk out of the classroom with the hot sensation of dread coiling in his stomach.

*

“What does it mean?” Harry asked Hermione.

George answered for her. “If he’s holding onto it, it means he’s plotting. It means you’re fucked, mate.”

Hermione shot him a disapproving glance, but otherwise ignored his language. “Harry, I think you should apologize. Maybe if you do, Snape will go easy on you.”

The others laughed at the ridiculousness of that statement, even Harry, although his felt a little hollow. Hermione turned pink. “All right, he won’t go easy on you. But it might get you some points if Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore get wind of it.”

Fred put a finger to his mouth in contemplation. “Perhaps we could get it back?”

George was shaking his head. “Sorry. But there comes a time when one must throw oneself headfirst onto one’s sword and beg the court for leniency. I think you’re there. Go to McGonagall, get down on one knee, show her the rest of the essays and beg.”

“So much for revenge,” Harry grumbled.

“Now, now,” Fred said. “Let’s not concede so easily. I’m formulating a plan as we speak.”

They all waited a moment, watching expectantly.

“I’m seeing a preemptive strike. A volunteering, if you will, that takes the sails right out of his wind, so to speak.”

“What kind of volunteering?” Hermione asked.

“Something that makes him so uncomfortable he’d rather wash his hands of the whole thing than punish you.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, rather suspiciously.

“What would freak Snape out more than anything?”

“A bath?” Ron asked.

“Ah, young ones,” George said, staring off into the distance and shaking his head faintly, as if thinking of the good old days.

“What then?” Ron asked.

“Sex,” Fred said, and George nodded.

When everyone looked at them blankly, George said, “Fred and I have, for quite some time now, suspected that dear old Snape, in addition to being a git, is likely to be a virgin.”

At this point, other people in the common room began to listen in.

“You think so?” Hermione said skeptically.

“Yeah!” Ron said. “O’ course he is. Just look at the greasy bat. What girl’s going to want to get near that?”

“He probably bites,” Seamus Finnigan suggested from in the corner, where he and Dean Thomas were playing wizard’s chess.

“And has rabies,” Dean offered.

“I’m not sure,” Parvati Patil said, biting her lip.

“I agree with Parvati,” Hermione said. “I just don’t think you can count on that.”

“Why not?” Fred asked. He rested his chin in his hand and studied her with interest. “Show your work.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink. “I just don’t.”

“Have you seen something?” George asked, peering at her. “Something…dirty, perhaps? With Snapey in it?”

“No,” Hermione said hotly. “I simply don’t think it’s likely that a man like Snape would be…you know.”

“A man like Snape?” Ron asked. “What’s that mean?”

Katie Bell spoke up from the couch, where she was trying to transfigure a cup of cold water into a bowl of hot soup without spilling any. Her cheeks turned a bit pink and she refused to look at anyone. “She just means it’s not impossible. Leave her alone.”

“Impossible? Of course it’s impossible,” Harry said. The conversation was making him want to squirm a little. “He’s _Snape.”_

“And it’s reasonable to think he might’ve…well, someone was bound to…just don’t count on it,” Angelina Johnson said, biting her lip and not looking at any of them.

“They mean that Professor Snape’s a little bit hot and they’d like a little bit of it,” Ginny Weasley said bluntly, not lifting her head out of her book, and all the boys went slack-jawed before a chorus of _you’re crazy!_ and _what is wrong with girls?_ rang out.

Hermione, ever the organized soul, counted off on her fingers. “He’s tall and lean and he’s got nice shoulders, and even with the nose, his face is interesting to look at. You wouldn’t get bored of it. And he’s rather mysterious. You never know what he’s going to do or say.”

Parvati said, “He’s wicked smart, too. Did you know he’s published? He invents his own potions. He fixed the potion that that other guy developed for impotence—you know, the one that was in the Prophet because it kept giving men boils? I heard the Potions Guild asked him to figure out a way to fix it and he did. So clever.”

Twirling a strand of hair around her fingertip, Lavender said dreamily, “No. It’s the eyes. So dark. I’ve never seen eyes so dark. And he’s got lashes like a girl.”

Katie said, “Have you ever seen him when he’s brewing? Not in class, but his own stuff? He moves all elegantly. And his fingers…linger when they touch things and they’re…what’s the word? Dexterous.”

Angelina giggled. “His fingers aren’t the only elegant thing about him. The way he walks, with the robes billowing and the long strides, and the intensity?”

Parvati sighed. “The intensity. Yes.”

Katie sighed too. “Oh, yeah. The _intensity._ ”

Hermione was nodding. “It makes you wonder what it would be like to have it all directed at you.”

“It’s the voice,” Ginny said, still bluntly, still not bothering to look up from where she was reading. “He has sex voice. He could read a receipt and still make you feel all melty.”

The girls were all chorusing now, nodding, talking to each other, comparing Snape’s various attributes while the boys stood there, watching with no small amount of horror.

“You girls think Snape’s hot?” Ron asked, his words incredulous and confused at the same time.

“A little bit,” Katie said, nodding.

“And you all want him?” George said, with the same tone Ron had used.

“A little bit,” Angelina said, sighing.

Hermione caught Ron’s expression, a mixture of betrayal and discomfort, and she said abruptly, “I just don’t think you should assume he’s a virgin.”

“Well, it’ll still work,” George said, if somewhat more doubtfully than before.

Fred, despite his dislike of the concept, was nontheless writing everything down. “ _Sex voice...Read a receipt.”_

They all looked at him, and then he held the page out to Harry. “There you go. Structure that into a letter, and send it off. Maybe add something personal, about how you like that he doesn’t treat you all special like because you’re THE Harry Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked. He could feel the back of his neck getting hot.

“That’s the answer. You’ve got to make him dreadfully uncomfortable, and virgin or not, I’ll bet the idea of an underage student writing that stuff about him will do the trick.”

“That would make anyone uncomfortable,” George said. “Righto, Fred.”         

“Thanks, George.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, shifting because _he_ was uncomfortable.

“How would it make you feel to have Snape say those things to you?” Fred asked.

Harry shuddered. “I’d run the other direction and never look back.”

“Exactly,” George said. “And it gives you an excuse for all the shennanigans if he throws a fit to Dumbledore. You’re male…”

“A male teenager, no less” Fred said.

“With needs,” George added.

“And hormones,” Fred said.

“Under a great deal of pressure,” George again.

“The Chosen One and all that,” Fred finished. “If anyone can act a little crazy, it’s you.”

The letter was far harder to write than any of the essays had been. The entire house was up until nearly midnight putting it together. Finally they had the following:

 

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I wanted to apologize for the last essay I turned in. Actually, I’d like to apologize for much of my recent work. I’ve been struggling in your class for a while now, and it’s not just because you treat me like I’m something on the bottom of your shoe. I’ve finally realized that it’s time to come clean._

_I think I’m in love with you. I know that must sound crazy, but please don’t think I am. It’s not just that you’re so sexy. I know you might not believe me for thinking so, but you are. You’re really smart and I’ve read all your journal articles, even the ones about the potion for impotence. I’ve seen you brew, and you’re beautiful when you do that. I like your hands. And when you walk, you seem very intense. I like the intensity. It’s very intense of you to do the things you do. Even though you’re a little greasy and your nose is a little big, I still think you look good. Not to mention your voice. You could read a receipt and still sound sexy._

_The other reason is that everyone else treats me like I’m some kind of freak for being the Chosen One and all that. I hate it. My best friends never do that—that’s why they’re my best friends—and neither do you. You’ve always been honest, even when you’re saying how my dad is a prat and all. When you have people constantly seeing you as great because of something you’re supposed to do later, or some stupid destiny where you might have to murder someone, you start to really appreciate the people who can be real with you._

_Finally, I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain. It’s just that I wish more than anything that you would like me back, at least a little. To read some of the things you write on my essays hurts my feelings. To know that you hate me hurts my feelings. And I got angry. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. Please don’t make fun of me. Maybe you could touch my hand sometime, and I would be grateful._

_Love,_

_Harry Potter_

 

The next day, Harry turned in the letter with his essay (adequately done, if nothing that would change the world). And Gryffindor house settled in to wait.

*

The next day, Snape sent a letter of his own.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I admit I was taken aback by your letter. It’s not something a professor generally receives from a student, particularly one like yourself, with whom I have always shared a somewhat turbulent history. My surprise was furthered by the fact that I’ve personally overheard you call me a greasy git more than once, but I suppose I’m to interpret that as camouflage of your feelings for your friends’ benefit._

_I am sorry to hear that your love for me has influenced your studies. This, unfortunately, cannot be allowed to continue. Your work at Hogwarts is of paramount importance to the success of your future, and should you live through a confrontation with the Dark Lord (something, I must regretfully admit, that I consider unlikely—all the more reason you should study hard and prepare yourself), you will want to have a career other than taking over for Stan Shunpike as the conductor of the Knight Bus when he finally manages to get a real job (unrealistic as that may be)._

_This being said, I do not intend to mock you for your feelings. I would not do that to someone who feels so deeply for me. Just the opposite, in fact. I take them quite seriously._

_I think we both know what must come next. It is inevitable. We’ve been coming to this point for quite some time, and I can only hope you are as relieved about it as I am. I’m hopeful that you would meet me in the Great Hall tonight at 8:30. I have much more to say on this subject, and would prefer to do it in person, as we should be careful what we put into writing in case our letters go astray (there are more than a few Slytherins who would would not hesitate to use this letter against you). Now that I know how you feel, I can be far more straightforward with you about our future relationship and how I’d like it to proceed. I can say no more now, but please know that I genuinely look forward to spending time with you tonight._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

 

The common room remained silent for well over two minutes.

“He’s hitting on a student,” Hermione said finally, in a very odd voice. “He was really careful to put it obliquely, but it’s in there. He’s…receptive.”

“This, I did not see coming, I’ll admit it,” Fred said.

“He can’t like Harry,” George said. “I mean, why Harry?”

Harry sat like a stone, staring at the parchment in his hand.“He never actually says it,” Katie said doubtfully.

“Of course not,” Hermione said. “He’s too smart for that. He could get sacked for this, at the very least. Hitting on a student, of all things. I’d never have thought he’d do something like that. And to Harry? I mean, he’s Harry.”

“Oi,” Harry said half-heartedly.

“You’re jealous,” Ron said, looking at Hermione, and her cheeks turned pink.

“I am not,” she said hotly.

“I am, a bit,” Angelina said. “I’d go.”

“You have to go,” Fred said to Harry, choosing to ignore Angelina’s comment.

“I concur,” George said. “You have to.”

“What?” Hermione said in outrage. “That’s the last thing he should do.”

“He’ll have Snape over a barrel. It doesn’t matter that Harry started it. Snape’s a teacher, and this is way out of bounds.” George rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “We’ve got him.”

“Harry would never do something like that,” Hermione said.

Fred said, “It’s the perfect revenge! This is exactly what we were looking for! Something to put him in his place!”

“Yeah,” George said. “He’ll have to be nice to Harry for the next two years. And probably to all the rest of us, because all Harry’ll have to do is give him a look and he’ll straighten up and fly right.”

Ron had looked doubtful until George got to the part about Snape treating the rest of the Gryffindors better. He abruptly perked up. “You know, Harry, they’ve got a point.”

“They do not,” Hermione said fiercely. “This is wrong. It’s not revenge. It’s blackmail.”

“It’s not blackmail!” Ron said. “No one’s making Snape show up for a date with a student. Harry’s underage! Snape’s a perv. And if Harry can get something good out of it, I say he goes for it. It’s not like we’re getting him sacked. We’re just saying he shouldn’t be such a prat anymore.”

“I almost feel sorry for Snape,” Katie said. “It sounds like he actually has real feelings for Harry.”

“That might be why he’s always been so mean to you, Harry,” Lavender said, her voice breathy, as if this were the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. “He knew if he was nice to you, and the two of you became friendly, he might not be able to keep himself in check. So he had to make you hate him so he wouldn’t try for more than friendship.”

The girls were nodding at this even while the boys all looked confused.

“Do people do that?” Ron asked.

“No,” Fred said, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Now shut up, Ron, because Harry isn’t going to do it.”

Ron ignored Hermione and looked at Harry. “Think of it, mate. Snape having to be nice and not make any more stupid comments about your dad or how much you like attention.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped.

“What? Snape does that! He’s just getting what he deserves. Less than, even, since we’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just making him be a good teacher.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, suddenly on board. The thought of Snape having to bite his lip against comments about Harry’s dad had been all it took. Snape was asking for it. The whole point had been revenge, because Harry was tired of feeling angry in class, tired of feeling small and pointless.

“I’m not a part of this anymore,” Hermione said. Her face was bright red and her hands were shaking as she began putting away her things. “This is a bad idea.”

The others watched her flounce up to the dormitory.

Fred turned to Harry. “So, what are you going to wear?”

*

At exactly 8:30 that night, Harry walked down to the Great Hall with a dry throat and clumsy feet. He couldn’t quite manage to think. The twins and Ron had been very clear that all he had to do was let Snape prattle on about his feelings a bit, then say that the whole thing was a mistake and that if Snape didn’t want him to go to Dumbledore, he’d better start treating Harry with respect. And his reasons for doing this were straightforward and reasonable. All he wanted was equal treatment.

But all those thoughts were hard to hang onto when he came to the stairs and looked down to where Professor Snape was leaning casually in the doorway of the Great Hall. In fact, as the professor glanced up and saw Harry standing there, Harry suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say at all.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, and Harry suddenly heard what all the girls were talking about. Not the sex part, exactly, but he was suddenly painfully aware of how deep and rich Snape’s voice was. Harry shivered. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

“Professor,” Harry said.

“Are you going to come down?” Snape asked, sounding faintly amused.

“Er,” Harry said, but his feet had apparently figured out what they were expected to do, and a second later he was walking.

“Good,” Snape said. He straightened from the wall he was leaning against and came forward. They met in the middle of the vast space, standing between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, and Harry swallowed hard. He couldn’t keep the voices of the stupid girls from rioting in his head. Lean build, broad shoulders, elegant walk.

He has a big nose, Harry reminded himself desperately.

“I’m glad you came,” Snape said.

“Um,” Harry said.

Snape paused. “But it doesn’t sound like you are.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. His voice shook a little, and Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you frightened?” he asked.

Harry shook his head too fast and too many times.

“I see.” Snape bent a bit, looking into Harry’s face. _Tall,_ Harry remembered. “You look rather pale.”

“I just didn’t expect you to write what you wrote,” Harry said.

“What did you expect, after the letter you sent me? I’m not without feelings, Mr. Potter. Or may I call you Harry?”

“That’s fine,” Harry mumbled.

Snape was still looking intently at Harry, close enough that Harry could feel his skin prickling, as if Snape were able to see far deeper than Harry’s features and into his mind. Perhaps deeper. Harry avoided his gaze, thinking the whole time about the _intensity._

“I realize that perhaps you’re expecting me to be cruel. Trust me, it is not my intention to ignore the feelings you’ve professed to have. We should discuss them, in fact. But perhaps after?”

“After?” Harry squeaked. His voice had abruptly gone up two octaves.

Snape chuckled, a low, dark, silky sound, and Harry’s stomach clenched up in knots. “Why do you think I asked you to join me?”

Harry did not have the first clue how to answer that. Various possible answers flitted through his mind: _kissing, touching, sex…God, sex? He couldn’t mean sex? In the Great Hall?!_

“Dinner,” Harry finally said.

Snape looked surprised. “You thought I wanted to have dinner? Even though dinner was a couple of hours ago?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” Snape said. “Well, you are young. I suppose subtext might, indeed, be lost on you. Although I’d think Miss Granger would be able to help you with that.”

“What?” Harry asked. Did that mean Snape did want sex?

Snape shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re absolutely right. We cannot go on as we have been. Things have changed.”

What had Fred and George said to say?

But the word _blackmail_ was all that came to mind with Snape staring so intensely into his face.

“Erm,” Harry said. “I should probably tell you…I should say…I mean…”

“Are you all right, Harry?” Snape reached out, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “You seem upset.”

Harry felt it through his whole body. Part of it felt very wrong, but part of it felt very nice, and the whole mess was suddenly making him sick to his stomach, so maybe he could be forgiven for blurting out what he did. “It was a joke. I didn’t…I don’t. We—I wrote it…I thought you’d be mad…about the other thing. The letter was a joke. I’m not…in love…I’m sorry.”

“What did you come here intending to do, then?” Snape asked quietly, his expression uncharacteristically soft. Almost…hurt.

“B-blackmail. I’m sorry, I know it was wrong.”

“You were going to blackmail me?” Snape asked, still in that same wretched voice. Yes, he definitely looked hurt. “With what?”

Harry felt sick.

“For showing up. For…with a student. Wanting to…with a student. I wasn’t going to get you sacked, I swear. I just wanted some leverage. To make you put nicer things on my essays.”

For a split second, Harry saw the pure glee in Snape’s eyes and was confused. Then he heard:

“MR. POTTER!”

Harry’s face went white and he closed his eyes. He knew that voice. He knew the accent, the stridency, the sheer disappointment that rang in every syllable.

“Professor McGonagall,” he said, sounding strangled. He could see, now, that she'd been in the Entrance Hall, about to come into the Great Hall, just in time to overhear Harry's damning confession.

Now, as she strode furiously towards Harry and Snape, her words only became more shrill. “I have never in all my years as a teacher heard such an outrageous thing. Attempting to set up a teacher for the purposes of blackmailing him into a better grade? I wouldn’t have believed you capable of such a low, dirty trick if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears!”

“Not for a better grade,” Harry cried. “For him to stop being so hateful all the time. I got tired of all the unfair stuff he’d write on my essays. Some of it is really mean.” That sounded rather pathetic in retrospect, Harry had to admit.

“Then why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because that would’ve been the smart thing to do!” Harry yelled. “It’s just…the essays, and his comments…made me translate…so I said I was writing bad essays because I loved him, but he’s the one who wrote back what he did! And then I didn’t know what else to do…I wasn’t going to get him sacked or anything. I wasn’t going to give him a chance to do anything wrong, even…” And turning to Snape, he yelled, “And you showed up! What the bloody hell did you show up for if you didn’t want…if you weren’t trying…”

“Why do you think I am here, Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall’s mouth was set in a firm line of displeasure. “After he presented me with your previous essay and your letter, he thought it best—and I agreed—that this should be discussed with an objective third party to avoid any sense of impropriety and to get your studies back on track! I’m glad I was held up by Peeves so that I could overhear a conversation that I doubt you’d have had in my presence. I never thought you would be this dishonest!”

Harry felt panic swelling in his guts. How had this all gotten so out of control so quickly?

“But the letter he sent…it was so…it made it sound…I thought he was trying to do something…”

“I read the letter he wrote before he sent it to you,” Professor McGonagall said, her nostrils flaring. “I found it not only perfectly appropriate but quite kind and understanding, particularly for Prof…well, that’s neither here nor there.”

Snape’s lips were twisted into what was almost a smile, and Harry finally realized exactly what had happened. Snape had played him.

“You wrote it that way on purpose!” Harry accused.

“With respect towards your feelings?” Snape asked, apparently doing a fairly good job of hiding his pleasure at the moment, because McGonagall couldn’t seem to see it despite the fact that Harry couldn’t see anything else. “I freely admit it. That’s what comes of trying to be kind to Harry Potter.”

“Harry,” Professor McGonagall said through gritted teeth. “I cannot impress upon you enough how serious this is. We’ll need to collect the essays in question, as supporting documents to the letter you wrote. I…I believed your feelings to be legitimate…but this! You may be looking at expulsion, Potter.”

Harry couldn’t breathe, which made speaking up to defend himself difficult. Fortunately, Snape’s lungs proved more than adequate, as he hurriedly said, “Now, Minerva, I think we shouldn’t be too hasty.”

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall said, “I cannot believe you’re speaking up on his behalf.”

“And the fact that I am tells you that I legitimately think it isn’t necessary to push forward. As much as I hate to admit it, I’d like to point out that Potter admitted to what he’d intended and called it off without any intervention from any other staff. It was absolutely hateful and cruel, but as he apologized and backed out of his own volition before any actual harm was done, it remains a mere prank.”

Professor McGonagall was staring at him as if he’d grown another head. Harry was as well, wondering what Snape was actually up to, when he realized exactly what McGonagall had said. Collect the essays in question…Snape was well aware that his comments had been provoking and mean, and could perhaps be seen as pushing a good student toward making bad choices…and he was covering his own ass.

“I think, perhaps, this would be better handled a different way,” Snape continued. “Particularly since I suspect that Potter could not have managed a scheme like this without the help of other students…I suspect Granger had a place in it, and the whole mess smacks of Weasley. The whole house might be implicated. Rather than creating an unwarranted, time-consuming investigation into the guilt of other students, I suggest the removal of house points and detentions.”

“Other students…detentions…” McGonagall spluttered.

“Aptly timed ones,” Snape said silkily, and McGonagall closed her eyes briefly, apparently understanding. When she opened them again, she seemed less enthusiastic about feeling sorry for Snape.

“Very well. Mr. Potter did back out on his own. And due to the fact that the loss of our star seeker will be punishment enough to the house as a whole, perhaps Professor Dumbledore will not need to be consulted. But detention during every night for the next two weeks, and then during every subsequent Quidditch game, and 150 points from Gryffindor! And be grateful, Mr. Potter, for Professor Snape’s intervention. I would not have been so lenient otherwise.”

She stormed off, only calling back over her shoulder, “Get to your dormitory as soon as you thank Professor Snape for his generosity.”

When she was gone, Harry glanced up at Snape with hesitation, only to find a wry, slightly malicious smile on that face. Feeling overwhelming relief now that expulsion was off the table, he was more curious than angry with his professor. Harry asked, “Why did you do that? Stand up for me, I mean.”

“I think I can afford to be a bit magnanimous in victory,” Snape said.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re covering your ass.”

“Absolutely,” Snape replied, again giving that low, dark, silky chuckle. “I’d like to express my… delight at the impulse toward game theory you’ve displayed over the last few weeks, but frankly, it was the attempt of a Gryffindor. A Slytherin wouldn’t have been nearly so obvious.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sourly.

“Should you ever attempt to do something like this again, I’ll have you out of Hogwarts if it has to happen with you on a stretcher. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry studied the older man. “What did you mean when you said we would talk ‘after’? After what?”

“I meant after Professor McGonagall arrived, of course,” Snape said, with a smirk that said he’d fully intended for Harry to take it the way he had. The git.

“Why didn’t you give me my essay back? The really mean one I wrote?”

“To make you sweat, you fool.” The smile broadened. “Good night, Potter.”

Harry watched Snape turn to go, his robes billowing. Elegantly, of course. “Sir?”

Snape paused and turned back, one supercilious eyebrow lifted in question.

“When did you know?”

“That you were attempting to set me up?”

Harry nodded.

“Amethyst and amaryllis, Mr. Potter. There’s only one copy of Greaves Burdock’s Flower Compendium in the library, and it’s currently checked out to Hermione Granger. She’d never have let you borrow the book for your Potions essay without asking why you wanted it, and she would certainly never have let you make such an egregious error as mixing up the two once you’d explained. Therefore you did it on purpose. Perhaps you would know which books we have in the library if you ever ventured there. Should you decide to give it a try, it’s on the third floor.”

Snape hesitated one more moment, then said reluctantly, “Whatever you might think about me, Mr. Potter, or this whole event, you were, and are, perfectly safe in my presence. I would never touch a student.”

Snape left the Great Hall, his walk just as elegant as his robes, and Harry could only shake his head in reluctant admiration.

Wicked smart indeed.

Harry passed the hourglasses that kept track of house points on his way back upstairs, cringing a bit when he saw the stingy pile of rubies in the bottom half now that he’d been caught out. His feet moving more and more slowly as he got closer to Gryffindor tower, he couldn’t help running the whole evening over and over in his mind.

When he entered the common room, he was immediately beseiged by classmates demanding to know what had happened.

“I got my arse handed to me,” he said bluntly. He turned to Hermione. “Checked out any books on flowers lately?”

“Burdock, but…” She went pale. “He knew?”

“You have the only copy. Apparently, when sneaky Slytherin types suspect underhandedness, they go to the library. It’s on the third floor, I hear.”

He explained what happened, and by the time he was done, his fellow Gryffindors, like him, were all silent and horrified. Like him, no one was sure whether to complain about the severity of the punishment or admit that they’d sort of gotten off easy, considering how it could’ve turned out.

“That bastard,” Fred said, almost with admiration.

“A worthy competitor,” George said, nodding.

“Did you tell him I was in on it?” Ron asked nervously.

Harry ignored them and edged over to Hermione’s side. “I, uh, think you might be right. About Snape, I mean.”

She looked blank. “How do you mean?”

“About him not being a…you know. A…virgin.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “I just got the impression. That’s all. That he knew stuff. Well, how to talk to make it seem like he knew stuff. You know. Stuff.”

She frowned a little. “Harry, did he do anything?”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “He just said…Well, the way he said it…I mean…I felt…”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, Harry. We’ve all been there.”

“Where?” he asked suspiciously.

“That place where we start to realize our teachers aren’t just encyclopedias on legs. They’re living, breathing people. And some of them are a little bit hot, which makes us want a little bit of it.”

Harry turned bright red and walked quickly up to the dormitory without looking at her again.

Harry got into his pajamas and slid between the sheets, still not sure what to think about the whole fiasco. After all, there so many things to worry about. The search for a new seeker now that Harry wouldn’t be able to play. The way Snape would act in class now that Harry had done such a stupid thing.

But the thing that bothered him most was that if Snape had known all along that Harry was trying to set him up, why had he been so mocking with his comments on his essays?

To incite Harry into behavior that would get him in trouble? No, Harry thought. If Snape had put those comments down, his goal had never been to get Harry expelled, because the essays would have to be seen by someone else eventually, and then the gig would be up. He probably hadn’t planned to get Harry busted this badly until he’d written that stupid love letter.

Had Snape just been… taking the piss? Having fun?

Harry thought back to the comment in ancient Sumerian. That had been sort of funny, actually. In hindsight, anyway. Perhaps Snape, like Harry, had simply gotten tired of all the animosity and decided to just have fun being as much of a shite as he could get away with. At least until the love letter, when Snape had apparently decided the game had gone far enough.

But he hadn’t asked for the essays with his comments back either, something a smart Slytherin definitely would’ve done. For some reason, he’d left Harry with a weapon. And he’d sort of mentioned, in an insulting way, that he’d liked Harry’s attempt at game theory, whatever the hell that was. And there was something decent in the way Snape had reassured him of his safety.

Like Snape was trying to win without utterly crushing Harry’s spirit. Or something.

The possibilities kept him up for quite some time. He couldn’t stop marveling at how clever Snape was, at the nervousness Harry’d felt while Snape was looking at him in the Great Hall, which led to thoughts about the nice shoulders, the eyes, the voice that should definitely read receipts and, finally and most importantly, the way you could never tell what his motivations were. Put all that together with the _intensity_ , and you had mystery personified.

Harry got the sneaking suspicion his problem had gotten solved after all, even if he hadn’t planned it to happen this way. Potions class probably wouldn’t be making him so angry anymore.

Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he saw what the girls saw now. Snape was a little bit hot. And Harry kind of wanted a little bit of it.


End file.
